


Jared and Dean's Adventures in Monster-killin', Sam-retrievin', and Sexual Confusion

by ciaan



Series: crossoververse [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bodyswap, Crossover, M/M, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaan/pseuds/ciaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared could play along with this. He could pretend to be Sam. No problem, he did that all the time. (Originally written June-December 2006 for estrella30's All CW Kink & Cliche Challenge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to buffyspazz and allzugern for the awesomely awesome beta comments and to kinetikatrue, beckaandzac, coyotegestalt, and idiosyncrarchy for the research help.

Jared woke with a start. His head hurt a little and the light was dim, and he wasn't quite sure where he was. When had he fallen asleep?

"More nightmares?"

He turned at the sound of Jensen's voice and saw him sitting on the other ratty motel room bed, sharpening a knife. "No. Just…"

Wait. Were they on set? Those were Dean's clothes, those were Dean's motions, that was Dean's low pitch and Dean's hard expression, shading toward concern - but why didn't it look right? What were his lines? Shit, had he fallen asleep during a take? Why didn't they cut? He glanced over at the director, but no one was there. The room had four solid walls, covered in peeling, dingy paper. There were no cameras. The only other person in the room was Jensen. No, Dean.

Dean.

"You okay, Sam?" That was Dean's worried tone, and when Jared looked back at him, he could see the softening in his eyes, the stillness and then the twitch that meant he was about to get up and check on his brother.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I… I gotta piss," Jared said, temporizing.

He'd been in his trailer before, so clearly he'd fallen asleep and this was a dream. Okay, he could play along with this. He could pretend to be Sam, no problem, he did that all the time. Jared stood up, smoothing a hand over his t-shirt, realizing he was wearing just that and boxers, and stumbled into the little bathroom, ignoring the mold along the corners of the walls.

Grabbing the edge of the counter, Jared stared into the mirror.

That wasn't him.

It looked a lot like him, but it wasn't him. The hair was shorter, brushed back from his eyes. The mole on his cheek was gone, replaced by an almost invisible white line of scarring. His eyes were darker, solid brown, and they stared out at him wildly from the reflection. Everything was just a tiny bit off, and something in the line of the jaw and nose echoed… Dean's face.

Jared dropped his head, and that brought his gaze down to his arms. The left forearm had a raised pucker of scar running down the side and over the back of his hand, bisected by the leather cords tied around his wrist. The fingernails he was staring at were bitten and ragged in a way that made Jared want to clip them right away.

He looked back up at the mirror and stared at Sam Winchester.

Well, shit.

This was one crazy dream. He'd tell Jensen all about it later, when they got a makeup touch-up; they'd laugh, and the makeup artists would laugh, because Jared was always entertaining them.

But right now, he was not going to run any cold water and splash it on his face, much as he wanted to, just in case it felt too real. Instead, he was going to go out there and talk to Dean, and then they'd kick some monster ass or something. Since this was a dream, it would be fun, no heavy emotional issues or real danger, no need to be worried.

Jared clutched the counter a moment longer, then straightened up and left the bathroom. Dean was still sitting there on the bed. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, feet bare, and he was staring down at his knife, slowly smoothing the edge of the blade back and forth across the whetstone, making a soft 'shhhck' noise each time. Jared stared for a minute. Dean didn't look exactly like Jensen, either. The shape of his face was slightly more like Sam's, and the muscles in his arms, shifting as he repeated the motion of the knife, were bigger, and his hair was a shade darker.

Dean looked up, and there were hard lines at the corners of his eyes. He didn't smile. "Everything alright?"

Jared walked back toward the bed, noticing the duffel bag on the floor beside it. "Everything's fine. What's the next step?"

"Now that we know where the sucker is, we go get him. Simple."

Yeah, real simple, only Jared didn't know what they were fighting, since it sure didn't sound like the resurrected dead girl story they were currently filming, and he couldn't exactly just ask. He glanced around the room, but he didn't see any pages of research stuck to the walls. Maybe this was some other episode, and he'd know the plot. But which point in the storyline? Maybe he should ask to go over the notes again. Or ask how Dean was feeling.

"Hey, Dean… I was just wondering… Can I…" He trailed off, unable to figure it out. "How are you holding up?"

Dean cocked his head to the side, his arms stilling. His face was blank.

Smooth, Jared, he chided himself. Real smooth. That's Dean's favorite question right about now, isn't it.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"You…" That wasn't Dean putting up walls, that was Dean being honestly confused. Okay, not current. It might be back in Season 1, or some other story completely. He shook his head. "Nothing."

Jared bent down to the duffel to pull out some pants and give himself a moment. As he was standing up, something hit him in the side, knocking his breath out and sending him careening down to the bed, and suddenly Dean was on top of him. Jared could feel his legs pinned beneath Dean's, his arms under Dean's chest, and the edge of the knife pressed into his throat, about to break the skin.

"You're not my brother. What are you? What did you do to him?"

"Dean…"

"Tell me." The knife pressed a little harder.

Jared lowered his voice to sound as soothing as possible. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just a person, a human. You won't believe this, though." Or maybe he would, since it was all a dream. People always believed things in dreams. Jared didn't even try struggling.

"Where's Sam?"

"Hopefully he's where I… came from."

Dean stared down at him, face cold and hard with anger. "Where's that?"

"Are you going to take the knife off me?"

"No." The knife pressed down a hair more and started to sting.

Jared winced. "Shit. You're going to go bugfuck insane, the way you always do when Sam's missing." Dean was so predictable then, and it wasn't good for whoever was in his way, and right now that was Jared.

Dean glared, and Jared winced again. "Stop playing with me and tell me where my brother is and who you are."

"Um." Jared tried for a shy smile. "Hi, Dean. I'm Jared. Jared Padalecki. I'm an actor, on a TV show you've… probably never heard of. Because it's about you. Well, really it's about me, Sam, I mean, and you're the second character, so…"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean still looked ready to skin him alive, but the knife eased off just a tad, and Jared swallowed.

"…So I woke up here and I think that means Sam is in Vancouver being me while I pretend to be him, even though you're supposed to just be fiction, and I am so having a talk with Kripke about what this all means once I wake up." He realized he was babbling, but who cared?

"Sam's in Vancouver? Canada? How'd you get to Iowa, then?" Dean had a thoughtful expression, like he believed at least some of it and was trying to figure out what to do next. Which didn't look to be slitting Jared's throat right then and there. Jared scrambled to think. Iowa? Was this Salvation? No, Dean didn't seem desperate enough for that.

"I don't know. But we could try calling my cell phone." It seemed like a sensible plan, call Sam up, have him tell Dean he was okay. There was a flaw in the logic somewhere, Jared knew, but he was too distracted by the knife at his throat and Dean's weight pinning him down to figure out what it was.

"I'd have to let you up. You might attack me."

"Point a gun at me or something." Normally Jared would never suggest that Dean Winchester point an actual loaded gun at him, but this wasn't normal. Dean reached his left hand behind him, and suddenly there was a gun at Jared's temple. Then Dean was standing up, gun still pointed at Jared, dropping the knife on the other bed and transferring the gun to his right hand, left bracing his wrist.

"Sam's phone is on the bedside table there. Move slow."

Slow as molasses, Jared reached over and picked up the phone. He dialed his own number. It was out of service. He shook his head, and Dean's eyes narrowed. Then Jared dialed Jensen's number. No answer, not even voice mail. Kripke's number, also out of service. Sandy's number, and that was Bob and Lisa's house, leave a message after the tone and we'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a good day, and remember, Jesus loves you.

Jared looked back up at Dean, shoulders slumping. "I think I don't exist here. Which means Sam's… a little too far away to drive. Or even fly."

"So let me get this straight. You're from some sort of alternate reality, where me and Sam are a TV show, and you're an actor who plays Sam, and now suddenly the two of you have switched places, but you don't know how or what you did or how to do it again. Is that right?"

Jared stared at Dean incredulously. "How did you… wait, what?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I've seen science fiction movies before. Did you think I was an idiot?" As Jared started to open his mouth, Dean held out his left hand. "Don't answer that."

"Okay, but you're actually wrong. This is a dream."

Dean barked with laughter. "No, it's not. I can cut you up some if you want me to prove that." He tossed the gun down beside the knife and sat down, staring at Jared. "This is a little different from what I normally deal with."

"Yeah."

"And Sam's safe enough in your Vancouver?"

Jared nodded. "No monsters, no psychos, nobody ought to be trying to kill him. That doesn't happen to me."

"Right." Dean folded his arms across his chest, and Jared noticed the scars circling his right bicep, parallel pale lines. His arms were really strong, and his hands were calloused and tough. Jared focused on them. "So I need to go finish this job and get those kids out, then figure a way to get Sam back."

"What's the job?"

"Doesn't matter. You're staying here."

"Don't you want to keep an eye on me?" The job could very well be dangerous, but Jared didn't want to be left behind. He wanted to at least watch. He was here, he should take his chance to experience this fully.

Dean stared at him, then shook his head briefly. Jared tried the big puppy dog eyes that always worked on Dean when Sam used them. Dean stared for a moment more, silent, and Jared was about to give up. Finally, Dean sighed. "I guess so. But you'll have to stay out of the way. You don't know how to handle yourself, and I don't want you getting hurt."

That was good. That meant Dean didn't think Jared was really a monster. Jared picked up the fallen pair of jeans and slipped them on. As he was doing so, he noticed a set of pockmarks across Sam's right knee, patterned as if something acidic had splattered on him and burned away the skin. He threw on a hoodie and shoes as Dean put on a black leather jacket and boots, gathered up his weapons, and handed Sam's cell and the laptop to Jared.

Jared followed Dean out the door. The weather was spring-like, but there was a cool breeze, and Jared was glad of the hoodie. The first thing he saw was the Impala, gleaming black in the rays of the sunset. Jared smiled at the sight. Dean stashed the weapons in the trunk while Jared waited, and then he got in and unlocked the doors. Jared smushed himself in, folding his legs up. This was a sweet car, but he hated the size of the seats.

Dean put his hand on the stick and threw the car into reverse, then flipped on the stereo. Blue Oyster Cult blasted out of the speakers. He glanced over at Jared. "You gonna complain about the music?"

"Nah, I like it." They drove for a few minutes without talking, then Jared had to ask. "What are we hunting? Is it a ghost?"

Dean's mouth twisted. Jared thought he would complain about the 'we', but he didn't. "Not a ghost. Something that used to be a person, before it went too far. Now it's just a predator."

"Kinda like a wendigo?"

"Yeah, kinda. It goes after little kids." His voice was tight when he said that, and Jared nodded. He got it. He couldn't think of anything that had targeted kids other than the shtriga, though, and it clearly wasn't that. Dean turned a corner too sharply, his shoulders tense. "So you and Sam switched places."

"Well, our minds did. This is definitely his body, though. We look similar, but not quite identical, and I certainly don't have all his scars."

"Yeah, you probably wouldn't. You don't sound quite like him, either. Got a bit of an accent." Before Jared could reply to that, they screeched to a stop in front of a ramshackle house. "We're here."

Jared got out and went around to the back to watch Dean pop the weapons compartment in the trunk. It was full of haphazard piles of guns and sheathed blades, with a few other blades strapped to the top. Garlic and a rosary hung from the corners of the lid. Dean pulled out two odd tazer-like devices and handed one to Jared.

"I want you to stay as out of the way as possible, but if it jumps you, zap the fucker with this."

Jared stared down at it. He'd seen this before, but... no, couldn't be. He tried to tell himself that if Dean owned these, he must have multiple uses for them, but he was really starting to worry.

He followed Dean inside. The door was unlocked, so they just walked right on in. Partway down the hall they could hear scrabbling and kids crying behind another door. Dean gestured to Jared to open it, while he covered both the door and the hall with his deliberate gaze. Jared pulled the door open to reveal a closet, and inside were a little boy and girl, hands bound. They heard a roar from deeper in the house.

"You take the kids outside. I'll get it."

Dean started to stalk away, and Jared reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Dean, no." The house wasn't identical, and it wasn't all happening quite the same, but he knew what this story was.

"Why not, Sa- The fuck do you think you're doing?"

"If you go after it, you'll die." The kids were still screaming.

Dean stared coldly at Jared. "You wouldn't kill me off on your show. I'm too handsome." He pulled his wrist free.

Jared shook his head. "You'll be dying. And I won't be able to do what it'll take to save you, and neither will you, if you know what it is."

Frowning, Dean glanced back along the hallway. "What, then? I'm not just letting that thing get away."

Jared bent to untie the kids, but they scrambled away from him. Dean came over and managed to calm them down with his soothing "talking-to-kids" voice and confidence, working the ropes off. They sent the kids running outside. Dean tried to push Jared after them, but he held his ground, so Dean took the lead, and they continued down the hallway. Jared held the tazer in front of him, ready to shoot, but it was so different from all the other times, following Jensen along fake hallways with guns full of blanks, stalking a stick with a rubber ball on it. It was different from shooting bottles out on someone's ranch, or going game hunting. His heart was pounding, and he could hardly focus on Dean's back, let alone any danger there might be.

Which was probably why the thing was able to come up behind him, and he only noticed when its claws sunk into his shoulder and it roared right in his ear, echoing his own scream.

Dean was there then, pulling him free, and Jared slammed into the wall. He blinked, saw the thing swiping at Dean's stomach, Dean grappling at its neck.

"Shoot it, Jared!"

"Not while you're right there!" Jared wasn't going to risk zapping Dean, no way, no how. Dean twisted, got a booted foot up, shoved the thing just a foot away. Jared shot. He watched in shock as the tazer leapt across the hall at the monster, trailing its wire, and electrical jolts ran over its scabby, nasty body until it fell to the floor. Dean and Jared stared at each other, leaning against opposite walls, panting, until Dean walked over and kicked the creature's body, flipping it over. It didn't respond.

"Damn straight," he muttered.

"Oh, fuck." Jared slumped down to the floor. "Fuck." He'd saved Dean's life, but he'd totally screwed up the plot, and only halfway through the first season, no less. Now what would happen?

"Hey, hey." Dean was right in front of him, hands on his shoulders, leaning in, expression worried. Jared pulled away as Dean's hand came down where the thing had clawed, making it burn. Dean grimaced and slid his hands down Jared's upper arms, squeezing. "You still with me?" He leaned in closer, and Jared saw that it had gotten him across the mouth, blood dripping down over his lips. His face was so close, blurring, looking more like Jensen, and Jared reached out and ran a thumb over his lower lip, wiping away the red stain, leaning in himself, opening his mouth to kiss-

"Jesus Christ." Dean pulled back. "You're my brother."

Jared blinked. What the hell? "I'm not your brother."

"You're in his body, so don't invite me to be." He sat back, letting go of Jared's arms. Jared just stared at him stupidly, feeling lightheaded. "That what you do with the guy who plays me?"

Jared nodded, throat tightening. This was all getting too confusing, and it wasn't fair of Dean to make him think about this stuff.

"What's his name?"

"Jensen." He wondered what Jensen and Sam were doing just then.

"Well, no wonder, with a pansy-ass name like that."

Jared blinked again. "Wow, you really are a jerk."

Dean didn't say anything, just stood up and grabbed Jared's uninjured arm, yanking him up as well. He stomped down the hallway, leaving Jared pretty much no choice but to follow him. They drove back to the motel slowly, Dean's face shuttered. Still, Jared could tell he was really hurt, the way he hunched a little, turned the wheel gingerly, took every corner gently, had blood soaking his shirt. The kids had disappeared, hopefully run back home, and the fact that Dean hadn't even tried to look for them emphasized how completely upset he was. Shit shit shit shit, Jared kept repeating to himself the whole way back.

It was dark when they pulled up in front of the motel. Dean gathered up his laptop and some stuff from the trunk, locked the car, and went into the motel room, Jared trailing dejectedly after him. He'd really messed things up. A lot.

He slumped down on his bed. Dean opened a battered metal tackle box and walked over, dumping it down next to Jared. "Let me see where it got you."

Jared looked up at him, uncertain. Dean waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Hey, Jared. Snap out of it, man." Jared batted the hand away. Dean continued talking, as slowly as he had to the frightened kids, but instead of the reassuring tone there was annoyance in his voice. "Just take off the shirt so I can clean up those claw punctures, okay?"

Jared sighed. "Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" He trailed off, not quite sure how to say anything without making it worse.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

"Right." Jared pulled the shirt off over his head.

Dean grabbed a bottle from the tackle box. "Holy water. This shouldn't sting." He poured some over Jared's shoulder, and Dean was right, it didn't sting, nor was it cold, just wet. It dripped down on the bed, getting into the blanket. Dean wiped at Jared's shoulder with the shirt, then grabbed another bottle. "Whisky. This'll sting."

"Whisky? Haven't you ever heard of rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide?"

Dean shrugged. "Ran out of that drugstore shit." He dumped a bunch of whisky on the cuts, swiping the shirt over them again. It did sting, and Jared flinched, rolling his head back. Dean pressed the cloth down for a minute, then he was pulling off his own shirt and flopping onto the bed next to Jared. Jared turned toward him.

"Holy fuck."

Dean had wiped the blood from his mouth long ago, but the wounds on his stomach were red and brown, the blood dried but not yet scabbed, broken open and bleeding again from the force of his fall to the bed.

"It's not that bad."

The white lines of older scars were visible curving around his side, over his heart, in addition to the ones Jared had noticed earlier around his bicep. Another line, raised and bumpy, traced over his left hipbone and disappeared under his jeans.

"What do I do?"

"Same as I just did to you."

So Jared poured the holy water and then the whisky over Dean's stomach and all over the bed - his bed, he thought, somewhere in the back of his mind. Dean kept his eyes closed, mouth pressed shut, but his face went just a little white when Jared started wiping away blood and water and alcohol with Dean's shirt. In the end he had to use Sam's shirt, too, which wasn't very hygienic, since it was already covered in someone else's blood - but Jared didn't think Dean would mind, as it was Sam's blood.

Dean lay still when Jared was done, and Jared started to wonder if he was going to fall asleep. He kept examining Dean. It was creepy how much he looked like Jensen, but totally distinct, much more so than the difference between Jensen-as-himself and Jensen-in-character. Even with his eyes closed and stomach covered in cuts, he looked completely wary, on edge, ready to leap up and into the fray at the slightest provocation. Jensen would be more relaxed and indolent.

Eventually Dean stood up and disappeared into the bathroom without a word, taking a roll of bandages with him. Jared tossed the bloody t-shirts over into the only corner that had nothing else strewn in it and dumped the sopping blanket on top of them. Luckily, most of the mess had soaked into the top blanket, so the bottom blanket and the sheets were only a little wet. The mattress seemed fine.

When Dean came out, he stalked to the far side of his bed, hands on his hips, midriff swaddled in white cloth, glaring at Jared. Jared stared back at him, and Dean's eyebrows slowly lifted.

It was hard to tell exactly which part of this little situation had him looking like that, so Jared figured he'd just ask. "What's bothering you so much?"

"I wouldn't mind a guy ogling my ass, if it weren't my brother."

"I'm not your brother. You said so yourself."

"Now you're just reminding me that you're the one who made him go missing."

Jared flung out his arms in exasperation. "I didn't exactly ask to be here. I'd much rather be living my own life, with my girlfriend, and my friends and family, and my job. The hours may be just as bad as yours, but at least the pay's better."

"Then go the fuck back there."

"I can't. And dude, if I weren't here, you'd have been electrocuted, and you'd be sitting in a hospital right now, dying of heart failure, leaving Sam desperate."

That got a response, and suddenly Dean was up in his face again. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything," he growled.

Jared leaned in, yelling back. He wasn't going to give in to Dean, and Sam's voice could growl just as well. "I know that you used to crawl into baby Sammy's crib to sleep with him. When he got attacked by the shtriga, you thought your dad blamed you, and you blamed yourself, and you've followed orders ever since. You told Cassie the truth because you needed someone to care for, but she dumped you, and then even Dad left, without a word to you until-"

Dean's eyes blazed with rage, and he slammed Jared back against the wall, hands around his upper arms again. "Shut. Up." Jared was actually surprised he'd gotten as far as he had before Dean did anything like that.

"Oh, yeah, that's something else you do. You get angry to cover the pain."

Dean's hand came up, drawing back to punch him.

"Go on, give your brother a black eye to come home to."

The grin was cold and sharp. "He'll understand."

Shaking his head, Jared refused to back down. Dean's anger was just pissing him off even more, and he really felt he could keep on like this forever. "No, he won't. You two never understand each other. All the same things happen to you, and you never see them the same."

"And you think because some guy wrote a TV show, you know all about me and my family? You're just some idiot who can't do anything real." Dean was shaking, but he dropped his fist and pressed his hand against Jared's chest, holding him there to the wall. Jared's back hurt now, too. He could see the creeping emptiness in Dean's eyes, the same emptiness Sam never noticed until it was almost too late.

"I know you'd do anything for them, including put up with me."

Dean turned away, touching his fingers to his temples, wiping his palm down over his face. "Just stop trying to pull that psychoanalysis bullshit, okay?"

Quotes from previous episodes kept flashing through Jared's head, and he could hear Jensen's voice murmuring, "fucking fixated when he gets like this." He nodded, but Dean wasn't looking at him anymore, was gazing off at the peeling wallpaper on the other side of the room instead. Jared pushed past him into the bathroom, staring at Sam's face in the mirror, finally splashing that cold water all over. At least Sam's skin didn't seem as dry as Jared's. When he used the toilet he really tried not to think of it as someone else's piss coming out. He also tried not to think about it while he brushed his teeth with what he figured was Sam's toothbrush, the one with the shaped bristles and ergonomic handle, rather than the cheapest plain one that anyone could possibly get laying beside it. Sam clearly didn't get his teeth bleached as regularly as Jared did. He checked his back for bruises, but it was too soon to tell, and all he could see were more scars. How had Sam explained all of those to Jess? What sorts of crazy stories about dirt bikes and neighbors' dogs and wacky dares from his older brother did he make up to fool her, trying to turn them true if he repeated them enough?

Jared closed his eyes for a minute. There were really dead women in this world, and killer demons on the loose.

When he finally went back out, Dean was in bed, buried under the blankets, back turned to him. Jared stripped off the stained jeans and crawled into his own damp bed, turning out the lights. It had been around lunch when he woke up here, and he was still hungry, but he was tired, too, and there didn't seem to be anything else worth doing. He thought about his dogs, wanted them there to help him sleep.

Eventually he rolled over. "Dean?"

There was a low mumble from the dark.

"Do you snore?"

"You'll find out." The teasing humor rang clear through Dean's voice, the vicious anger gone.

Jared smiled and punched his pillow back into shape, snuggling deeper and feeling a little better, though he still fell asleep wanting his dogs.


	2. Day Two

When Jared awoke, Dean was sitting at the little table reading a newspaper, coffee and a bunch of muffins strewn in front of him. When Jared asked, Dean said that the motel had a breakfast bar in the lobby. Jared would have called that a fucking miracle, but given the state of the room, he wasn't sure how much he trusted the food. Dean seemed happy enough to chow down on it, though, so after Jared showered, dressed, shaved Sam's similarly-enough shaped chin, and clipped all Sam's fingernails and toenails, he gave it a try. Dean had also brought him a black coffee and a couple packets of sugar and creamer. Even though it was getting cold, Jared thought that was really considerate.

Dean seemed very serious and focused as he read through a stack of newspapers and magazines, occasionally tearing things out and laying them in a separate pile on the floor. He was wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt, worn jeans, and mismatched socks, grey and blue. Jared noticed that the ring on his left thumb was bronze, matching the amulet around his neck.

Jared spent the next few hours surfing the net. He couldn't find any mentions of himself, Jensen, Sandy, or Kripke. Either they didn't exist, or they were doing totally different stuff with their lives and didn't show up online. Supernatural didn't exist, of course, but Gilmore Girls did, as well as Days Of Our Lives, even fucking Smallville, with Tom and Mike and the rest. He found a picture of Elisha and Paris and Chad from House Of Wax, Chad's arms flung laughingly around some guy Jared had never seen or heard of. Some totally other guy he'd also never seen or heard of had played Dean Forrester on GG, but the rest of the actors were the same, and it had the same plot and schedule on The good ol' WB.

Dean kept flipping through his papers until the whole pile was finished, and then he took the laptop from Jared and started checking things online. Jared leafed through a couple of the papers, and the news all seemed pretty standard for last year. He didn't look at Dean's special pile.

It was boring. Really boring.

He sighed, leaning his chair back on two legs, smacking a paper down. Dean didn't respond. Jared stared at him, counting the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, until Dean looked up.

"Looking for a new job?" Jared asked.

"I'm reading up on reports of people switching bodies, being transported to alternate universes, that sort of stuff. A lot of it just sounds like all that alien abduction crap, but there's a few things that could be real. I've checked Dad's journal, but he doesn't have any mention of this sort of thing."

Jared gestured to the pile of clippings. "That's what all those are?"

"No. Those are possible future jobs."

"Are you as bored as I am?"

"If you're bored, try doing something useful."

"I did. I ascertained that I almost certainly don't exist in this world."

Dean snorted. "Ascertained. Right. Then tell me what you were doing just before you came here."

"I was on break, playing PSP in my trailer, and I think I fell asleep. I don't know. It's a little fuzzy."

"Did anything weird happen that day?" Dean leaned forward, propping his chin on a fist.

"Not, like, supernatural-type weird. I mean, Sadie, she's one of my dogs, was whining in the morning, and Tamara, our guest star, was a little flaky, but…"

"Animals can sense things people can't. Maybe the dog picked up on stuff. Did anything happen the day before?"

Jared shook his head. "No. I really doubt it was me. I bet it was you guys. Did anything happen here? What were you doing?"

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "I've been trying to figure that out. We took out this ghost in Des Moines that was strangling red-headed chicks, then we drove out here based on all the missing kids. Sam thought it was probably just an ordinary pedophile," and Jared could almost see the contemptuous air quotes around the word 'ordinary' even though Dean didn't make them, "but then we saw the claw markings on the house. The thing wasn't home, so we came back here to look it up, figured out about the electricity, and Sam conked out. He's been having more nightmares again recently, and he wouldn't talk about them, so I let him sleep. Then you were there."

"Maybe his dreams had something to do with this. No, wait, that doesn't make sense, because it didn't happen on the show. So you couldn't… I wonder if I have psychic powers, now."

Looking up through his lashes, Dean frowned at Jared. "We're not some scripted fantasy. We get to make choices. I'm as real as you are."

"Yeah, but… How are you a TV show? Did you already exist, and if you did, then how'd Kripke know about you, and how much of his story is true? Or maybe you were created by him thinking about you, but then how can you be different from the show in these ways? What else is out there?"

Dean held up a hand in Jared's face. "No. We're not having this discussion."

"It could be useful." Jared brushed the hair off of his forehead. "I know you don't believe in God, but you've seen enough stuff that you have to admit you don't know everything, and I guess I don't, either."

Dean stared back. "Did you believe in ghosts? Monsters that eat people at night? Really believe?"

"No. Not really, although sometimes I thought maybe."

"Maybe they aren't real in your world. Maybe there you're right. Here, I know stuff's out there, dangerous stuff. Not every story is real, though. Vampires, the tooth fairy, things like that, some of them are just made up."

Jared started to open his mouth, then shut it. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell Dean the future, the truth, even though he'd already changed things by being here. "Not every story is real," and he thought of the tulpa, "but yours is."

"Could be you're the story. Maybe someone out there is writing about you."

Jared laughed. "Could be." Dean wasn't really as anti-intellectual as he pretended, although he preferred to turn his smarts to pragmatic things. Now, abstract discussions of the nature of reality, more Sam's bag of chips, had suddenly become pragmatic. "But you really can't think of anything you've done or seen lately that might've caused this?"

"Nope."

"Any weird symbols you've run into?"

A curious glance, but Dean shook his head.

"Well, that's…"

"…Pretty useless, yeah."

Eventually they got take-out from the Chinese place across the street for lunch. Dean grimaced and refused to try any of the sesame tofu Jared ordered, and he hoarded most of the General Tso's chicken. Afterward, he made Jared read all the info he'd bookmarked online, to see if any of it sounded familiar. Jared watched Dean do push-ups and lunges, glancing over between paragraphs, and just barely managed to talk him out of sit-ups. He didn't want the scabs on Dean's stomach breaking open again.

None of the articles and memoirs were helpful. They were all about people ending up in fanciful fairytale worlds or becoming their cats for a day, or something else weird. He figured most of them were just crazies or attention-seekers, and even if they were real, the people never explained why it happened or how to fix it. They all seemed to come back to themselves at some point as randomly as they had left. Jared didn't want to just sit around and wait for this to be over. There had to be something to do about it.

He kept reading and reading, and then suddenly the screen was gone and he was staring at Dean's arm. Dean had pushed the laptop shut. "You're going to drive me crazy. Remember to blink sometime." Dean smacked his shoulder. "Let's go out."

Jared looked up, blinking a lot on purpose. "Getting Sam back? Doing something useful? One track mind? Whatever happened to that?"

"Sam's living the movie star life in exotic Canada. You and I are going out for beer and steak, because I've had it with this damn room. Besides, you're clearly finding all that junk as helpful as an icemaker in Antarctica."

"Okay. Right."

"Just let me shower first."

While Dean was showering, Jared searched through the rest of Sam's duffel bag. There were some clothes, which he'd pawed through a bit in the morning, and a couple of books, and a few weapons. Then he pulled out Sam's wallet, which he hadn't looked in before, and opened it up. A bunch of credit cards in various names, a bit of cash, a couple fake IDs, one maybe-real one in the name of Sam Winchester, and behind all the rest, a picture that must be of Jess. She was blonde and pretty, with a playful smile, and she didn't actually look all that much like Adrianne. There was also a picture of John, Mary, little Dean, and wee newborn baby Sammy. John and Mary didn't look too much like Jeff and Samantha - they did look a lot more like Sam and Dean, though. Sam took after their dad, and Dean took after their mom. Jared stuffed the pictures back in their hiding place, feeling somehow dirty for spying.

Under all Sam's neutral and dark clothes, he found one incongruous bright lime-colored t-shirt and changed into that. It made him feel a little better, more like himself and less like someone else. Less like Sam, at least.

Dean emerged from the bathroom shirtless, rubbing a towel over his hair. He'd taken the bandage off and there was another towel bunched around his waist, over his jeans, to catch the drips of watered-down blood from the cuts. Jared looked at him and frowned. Dean looked at Jared and laughed. "You're wearing that? I got it for Sam as a joke a couple weeks ago. Didn't realize he still had it."

"Most of Sam's clothes are so boring. Why'd you let your cuts open again?"

"Good camouflage, though. And I'm fine. They're not that deep."

"Yeah, but you have to let them heal."

"Worrywart."

Dean finished swiping the towel over his torso and then wrapped a new bandage around his stomach, getting Jared to fasten it when it ended in the back. He had freckles on his back, too, and a set of reddened marks on his right shoulderblade that looked like they'd been made by teeth. Jared watched the muscles bunch under the clean skin around his left shoulderblade as he shrugged to adjust the bandage. The skin on the small of his back had been unmarked as well. Apparently very few things got Dean from behind.

Jared wanted to reach out and touch, but he didn't do it. Dean shrugged on a dark grey shirt and his black leather jacket, Jared put on Sam's brown jacket, and out they went, to a bar and grill just down the street. It was Wednesday, and early, so the place was pretty empty. Their waitress was blonde and buxom and perky, and Dean flirted shamelessly with her while she led them to a little corner table in the restaurant section. She grinned back at him when he said stupid stuff, and Jared could tell she was angling for a big tip.

The place was more run-down than down-home, with red-and-white check plastic table clothes and neon signs for various alcohol brands covering the wooden walls. The waitress, Linda, left to get them a pitcher of beer, and Jared started reading the menu. She came back a few minutes later. Dean ordered a ribeye, and so did Jared. Once she'd cleared out Dean leaned back, sipping his beer.

"So spill."

"Whaddya mean?"

"You know my life story. Tell me yours."

Jared took a long gulp. "I'm from Texas. Raised in San Antonio. Got two parents, an older brother, and a younger sister. Took drama classes. Used to swim. Worked on a ranch a bit. Won this contest, got to be on TV, got a job in a show. Did some movies, met my girlfriend, been with her two and a half years. Got cast as Sam on Supernatural. Went to Vancouver for that. Ended up here. Miss my dogs." He shrugged. "It's been pretty good. I'm happy."

Dean nodded absently, spinning his glass, tracing patterns in the condensation with his fingers. "Girlfriend? What about…"

Grinning, Jared nodded back. "Yeah, we have an agreement. Sandy's the best."

Dean snorted. "An agreement. Uh huh. She an actress?"

"Yup."

"She hot?"

Jared rolled his eyes. "Is that a stupid question?" He waved his glass in the air, then held it like a microphone, speaking in a high pitch. "Jared, tell us, is your girlfriend hot?" Then he leaned to the side a bit, rearranging the glass, speaking lower. "Uh, no, my girlfriend is ugly. Isn't that why I'm dating her?"

Dean laughed. "Okay, man, it's a stupid question. Let me rephrase it. How hot is she?"

"She was on the cover of Maxim." Jared hadn't actually liked that shoot much, too much spit and polish and Photoshop shine covering up Sandy's real beauty, but it impressed all his friends from home, and he felt like giving Dean a thing or two to think about.

Dean whistled. "Good for you, big boy. I guess being an actor has its advantages. Hey, how much money do you make?"

"You tell me. You're the hotshot producer."

"Oh, come on. They all know that's just a line."

Jared finished his first glass of beer and poured a second, topping Dean off as well. "Well, we all know it's not your personality that gets you laid."

"I wouldn't know what you're talking about."

The waitress arrived with their food just then, and Dean patted her wrist as she set his plate down.

"Hey, sugar, which of us do you think gets more action?" He gestured back and forth between himself and Jared, leering.

She smiled diplomatically. "I'm sure you both get plenty." With that she scampered back to work, waving back over her shoulder with an, "Enjoy your dinner, now."

"I rest my case," Jared said, raising his glass in a toast.

"Which case? You didn't prove anything."

"You scared her away."

"She'll be back."

"She's the waitress. She has to come back."

"Just my type of woman, then." Dean took a huge bite of his steak, chewing it roughly, cheeks bulging. Jared cracked up, dropping his head to the table. It was just skeezy, and the worst part was, Dean could pull it off. Jared could sit here and laugh over how unsuave he was, but in a few minutes he'd be back to examining Dean's face again, transfixed by his lips and eyes. He'd been doing it all day whenever he didn't think Dean would notice.

He got himself under control and looked up. Dean was staring at him with a goofy grin, expression gone soft.

"What?"

"I just…" Dean ducked his head briefly. "I like seeing you laugh. You know, because."

"I know." Yeah, it was probably a damn good thing Dean was so straight. Thinking about how hot he was made Jared feel guilty, like he was perving on Jensen's brother or something. But really, it was Sam's brother he was perving on. That would just be so messed up. He tried a bite of his steak, and it was actually really good. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Jared thought his baked potato was a little dry, but the salad was fresh and actually green.

Dean poured another round of beer. "So if you know so much, when'd I lose my virginity?"

"We haven't said. Jensen thinks sixteen."

"Nope, fifteen. You?"

"Seventeen." He didn't feel any compunction saying that. Most people he'd just met, he wouldn't be answering as comfortably.

"How'd I get the Impala?"

"Your dad had her all your life. He gave her to you after… Sam left."

Dean shook his head. "No way. I bought that car myself. She was in bad shape, got her pretty cheap, but still used up a lot of my hard-earned money. Dad helped me fix her, though."

"Huh." Jared leaned back in his seat. "Weird. But the car is one of the things that's different."

"What do you mean?"

"Mostly it's little things. In the show, your jacket's brown leather, and your ring is silver. And we've got stickers all over your laptop, band logos and shit."

"Used to do that with my old one, before the mutant bear ate it."

Jared raised his eyebrows. "That'd go over in sweeps. Or not. And the monster's house yesterday, that was similar, but not the same. I think our car's supposed to be manual, but a lot of our Impalas - we've had a half dozen - are automatics, so we just don't show it clearly. Some of them can't drive for shit. The first one we used couldn't go over thirty, and it was so loud you wouldn't believe. We've got one doesn't even have an engine, just sits on set for parked scenes."

"My baby? That's fucking slander." Dean sat forward, gripping his fork like a weapon. Hyperactive reflexes, Jared thought.

"If it's any consolation, your car purrs beautifully. And, uh, you're more buff than Jensen."

Clinking his fork on his plate, Dean frowned. "That just makes it worse. Tell him he needs to work out more, portray me right."

"Oh, I will." Jared waggled his eyebrows and leered, but Dean didn't take the bait, he just grumbled again.

"Automatic. Engineless."

Jared kept on talking. "Also, the people don't all look the same. I saw a picture of Jess in Sam's wallet, and she's not very much like Adrianne." He sighed, not mentioning John and Mary. "Poor Jessica. She really got a raw deal."

"Yeah. Sam's not exactly worth dying for."

Jared stared at him. "You'd do it in a heartbeat."

Dean stared back, gone all serious. "Faster. But it's different for his girlfriend to do it." He speared a piece of potato on his fork. "So, do we ever kill that thing?"

"I… I can't tell you about that." This world was different from the show, and he'd already changed things, but it still just didn't seem appropriate to tell Dean about the future. What if that changed too many more things, ripped a hole in the space-time continuum or caused a paradox or whatever? What if that made it harder to get back? Jared just didn't understand how this all worked. Best to be safe rather than sorry. Maybe. Best not to piss Dean off even more, too.

"Why not?"

"It just… It wouldn't be right to say."

"You already fucked everything up."

"Yeah, but… I can't, Dean. I just can't."

"You mean you won't."

"Fine. Whatever."

That shut things up. After a while Dean went to the bathroom, and Jared was left picking over the last of his food until the waitress took his plate and Dean's empty one away. Jared ordered another pitcher of beer and some water.

When Dean came back he was friendlier again. He beat Jared in four dart games and two pool games, although Jared thought he held his own and didn't lose by too much, despite the freely flowing beer.

Dean told Jared the story of when he was stranded in Salt Lake City, and how the Mormons tried to convert him until he poured salt over them, and that was how the lake got its name. Jared ignored the fabrications and told Dean about the time in high school he'd taken a girl to sneak into his friend Bobby's swimming pool at night, and Bobby's parents had already snuck out for their own naked shenanigans. It had been pretty scary because Bobby's mother was a MILF but his father was fat and bald and ugly.

Dean held forth on the proper way to make silver bullets and when to use them versus holy wrought iron ones, and Jared regaled him with the tale of Chad's one-balled puppy in Australia. Dean thought that was hilarious and kept repeating "Nutclops" and laughing, and Jared laughed at him, because of course Dean would find that funny. When Jared teased him for actually getting a reference to ancient Greek myths, Dean started reciting a family tree of the Greek gods until Jared shut him up by waving a pool cue in his face.

Dean wanted to start a new round of pool, and Jared left him setting up the balls to stumble to the bathroom.

Jared leaned his forehead against the wall over the urinal, everything hazy and spinning lightly, trying not to keep picturing Dean bending over the pool table. The only other thing to focus on here was Sam's dick. Jared sure hoped Sam wouldn't mind him manhandling that, and he didn't care if Sam did the same to his, but he really needed to not think dirty thoughts about Sam's brother right now.

He was just going to concentrate on how this was making him so much more comfortable, and no wonder they called it relieving yourself. He seemed to piss for ages, and he still was going at it when he heard the door open behind him and someone walk in. Jared pushed himself away from the wall, making an effort to stand up straight and keep his balance, and whoever it was stepped up to the urinal right next to his.

Okay, he couldn't deal with that. He tried to sneak a glance to the right and look at the guy, and he practically fell over when he saw it was Dean, the flow stopping in that moment. Dean seemed to ignore Jared, reaching down to his fly, and Jared turned his head away, closing his eyes, swaying on his feet when he did so. He would not look at Dean, he would not look down, he would not look at Dean, he would not.

He could hear Dean starting to piss, and he still needed to himself, even after the forever it had been, so, oh God, he did. Eventually Dean finished up and moved away, and then Jared was finally done himself.

He turned around and Dean was standing at a sink washing his hands, so Jared moseyed over to the sink next to him. "Damn. Good job there," Dean said, bumping their shoulders companionably.

Jared mumbled something back, still too confused to even be sure himself what he'd said. He noticed how drunkenly flushed he looked in the mirror, and then he was transfixed by staring at Sam and Dean's faces side by side. Dean's hair was short and spiky, Sam's longer and floppy, and their eyes were all different, Dean's deep green and Sam's dark brown, but their chins were the same, and Sam's nose wasn't quite as ski-jump pointy as Jared's. It was so weird.

"Dude, stop with the moping." Dean bumped his shoulder again, more aggressively this time.

"Right." Jared finished rinsing his hands off. Dean put a hand on the small of his back and propelled him out the door and over to the bar, where he ordered a couple shots of tequila. Apparently he'd given up on pool. Jared watched Dean's teeth flash white as he licked salt off his palm.

"So when'd I first get drunk?" Dean asked after they'd downed the shots.

"How the hell should I know?" Picking up another slice of lime, Jared squirted it onto Dean's hand, and Dean laughed and sucked it off. He signaled the bartender for another round.

"I was twelve, and it only took about two beers. But I grew up." He caught up his next glass, and Jared watched his throat move as he swallowed, head all the way back. His lips were shiny when he slammed the glass down on the wood. "You?"

"I was nine, at someone's wedding. Stole a glass of champagne, ended up tripping over some ribbons and bringing down the flowered arch where the photos were being taken." Jared did his own shot, while Dean slapped him on the knee.

"You a klutz?"

Jared laughed even more, jostling his leg against Dean's, leaning forward on the little stool. "Last year, I spent all day filming an action scene with Jensen, like, getting thrown into tables and shit, and I was just fine. Then, that evening, I'm sitting down, and I fucking fall out of the chair trying to catch a book someone tosses to me, and sprain my hand. I'm such an idiot, too, because that was just before we got into that bar fight, and it sure didn't help me any, so the guy actually broke my hand then." He threw his head back, guffawing, clapping for himself, then tilted the chair over to the side, arms waving, pantomiming falling. Dean grabbed at his shoulder and grinned.

"Well, don't do it again."

Jared ended up telling Dean about the mudslide in Australia and the time his car flipped over in Africa, what had happened at that infamous birthday party of Alexis' and how he'd first kissed Sandy. Dean told him about fighting ghosts all over the country, and scorpion totems in the New Mexico desert, and seeing Elvis in Nashville, and totally failing to find any evidence of Bigfoot in Oregon, and the one time he'd been to Washington DC - he'd gotten stuck in traffic and decided that the government buildings gave him the creeps. Something about people in suits and white marble, apparently.

Dean kept slapping Jared in the chest and grabbing his knees, and Jared kept throwing one arm around Dean's shoulders and gesturing expansively with the other because that was the best way to tell drunken tales. It wasn't really a good story unless you could swing the other person around and paint pictures for them in the air, damn it. Dean just laughed at Jared when he did that, and then he'd flick Jared's hair away from his forehead, and Jared laughed at him for that, and then they were both collapsing on the bar, punching each other's shoulders.

Dean was so much fun, because he kept pointing out hot women and saying crude things that made Jared stare at him in horror, and he just kept swallowing shots in smooth gulps, licking his lips and fingers afterward, and he laughed at all Jared's jokes, every single one, and he kept asking Jared stupid questions, like when had Dean first gone to Maine, and when had he first slept with a woman over the age of thirty, and what was his favorite kind of cereal. Jared tried to answer the questions, but he got most of them wrong, and Dean would smack him again and laugh more, tell him the answer, and then make Jared give his own answer about himself. He didn't ask anything about what Sam had done and Jared didn't try to tell him.

He ended up telling Jared again about how he created Salt Lake while ghost hunting, only this time he poured a fuckload of salt into Jared's shot glass and then told Jared to drink it anyway - Jared did, and it was vile, and Dean pounded him on the back. Jared leaned into Dean and almost knocked him off his stool, but he didn't care that a lot of Dean's stories probably weren't even true, because maybe yeah, some of Jared's own were a little exaggerated.

Everything was glowing and blurry and the floor felt really far away, and Jared was awesomely happy, and then Dean broke off in the middle of a sentence while telling Jared about being buried in a snowbank by a troll, and he leaned in real close and whispered in Jared's ear, and Jared leaned in himself to hear better and to smell the lime on Dean's chin and throat.

"Are we ever going to find and kill that damn thing?"

Jared knew exactly which thing he meant. The whole room got colder as Dean sat back, moving away from him. Jared shook his head to make this new moment go away, but it didn't, and Dean's eyes just got harder and sharper. "I can't tell you that," Jared mumbled, even though he didn't know why he couldn't.

"Why not? Maybe you're supposed to. Maybe that's why you're here, this could all be for a reason."

"You don't believe in those kinds of reasons."

Dean frowned when Jared said that and stood up. "Well, fuck you, Jared, for only telling me things I already know." He stormed out of the bar like the wrath of God, and Jared felt fittingly smote.

He paid for their tab with Robert F. Smith's credit card, and left huge tips for the bartender and their waitress before stumbling back to the motel room.

The room was dim, the overhead light off, and only one bedside lamp on. Dean was standing by the table between the beds, reading Dad's journal. He didn't look up or anything when Jared came in. Jared sat down on the edge of his bed, but then he fell over backwards, sticking his arms out, letting his lower legs dangle over the side. The ceiling was made of bumpy white stucco, and it was covered in cracks and grime.

"Dean."

There was no response at all.

"Dean."

Dean finally looked over at him, but he didn't say anything. His eyes were empty. Jared didn't want Dean to be angry at him, and he really didn't want Dean to hate him, and he really really didn't want Dean to look like that.

"C'mere."

Dean didn't move.

"Dean. Come over here."

Setting the journal down, Dean walked over and stood by Jared's knees, looking down at him. Jared tried to lift his head, but it wouldn't raise, and so he crooked his finger at Dean.

"Nuh uh, I ain't falling for that." Dean shook his head. Jared managed to reach up, and his hand flailed for a moment before catching on to Dean's wrist. He tugged. Dean just stood there.

Jared beckoned with his free hand again, tugging Dean's wrist really softly. Dean leaned down a little, and Jared wrapped his leg behind Dean's knees and pulled. Dean tumbled down on him, and his hands came up and closed around Jared's throat, while his legs pulled around and held Jared's down, and this was pretty much how Jared had met Dean in the first place. He stretched up a bit, pressing into Dean's hands. "It's a demon," he whispered. When he dropped his head Dean followed him down, ear by Jared's lips. "A demon. And it'll be hard, but you'll find a way you can kill it. Not just exorcise it, kill it dead." Jared realized then that he really wanted the demon dead, for everything it had done to all of them.

Dean's breath hitched. "Dad?" He let go of Jared's throat and braced his arms on the bed on each side of Jared's head.

"You'll see him again. Your old man does care about you." Jared's throat felt tight around the words, unable to say anything more than that, looking up past Dean's face at the ceiling so he wouldn't see any lies reflected back at him.

Dean clutched at Jared's hair, digging his fingers in, and pulled himself higher and closer. He tucked his head down, burying his face in Jared's neck, breathing harshly. Jared wrapped his arms around Dean's back awkwardly, stroking his hair and shoulderblades and the nape of his neck, petting him like a puppy.

"It's okay, Dean. It'll all be okay." That totally wasn't true, but maybe it could be. It was going to get worse, much worse, but the series had to have a happy enough ending to sell, right, even though Kripke wouldn't tell them? "We'll get Sam back to you. It'll be okay." He tried to keep his voice soft and soothing, running his fingertips from Dean's scalp down along his spine, repeating the promise of a good future.

Jared kept trailing his hands over Dean's back, and eventually he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up some unknown time later with Dean lying half on him, half off him, and his arms tingly numb from Dean's weight. Jared shifted, trying to pull his right arm out from under Dean before it fell off. Dean rolled a little, lifting his chin up and yawning.

"Fuck. My mouth tastes like ass." He slumped back down on Jared's arm. Jared yanked it harder, but he couldn't even feel where it was exactly. Dean tried to stand up, his elbows and knees going everywhere, and he jabbed Jared hard in the side before he finally got to his feet.

"Ow. Jeez," Jared muttered. He managed to fling his left arm over his face to shield his eyes from the light. "Bright."

Dean switched off the bedside lamp, and Jared relaxed into the dark. There was a crash as Dean banged into the corner of the bed on his way to the bathroom, hitting his knee or stubbing his toe or something.

"Fuck. Ow. Shit. That hurts," he whimpered.

Jared giggled. Of course Dean would be stoic about a major injury and then whine about a minor one.

"You bitch," Dean said, and then there was a burst of light for a second before the bathroom door closed behind him.

The feeling finally returned to Jared's arms, pins and needles receding, and the throbbing in his head became manageable. He was leaning against the wall when Dean got out of the bathroom, and Dean jostled him lightly as he walked past.

Jared pissed for ages again, brushed his teeth and washed his face, felt really glad he wasn't wearing set makeup, and downed two cups of tap water, just in case. When he opened the door the beam of light showed Dean already in bed, breathing slow and deep and even. Jared maneuvered back to his bed in the dark, unhurt, and shucked his clothes, climbed in, and fell asleep again as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	3. Day Three

Dean was still asleep when Jared woke up. He rolled over and opened his eyes for a second when Jared stood up, but then closed them again, apparently satisfied that nothing was trying to kill him. Jared stumbled through his bathroom routine. His head felt basically fine. Seemed Sam was more prone to headaches from psychic flashes than from alcohol. Once he was dressed he headed out to the hotel lobby and got coffee. There was a table with breakfasty baked goods and fresh fruit laid out. Jared stared at the fruit, then at the strips of musty paper hanging off the walls, then at the fruit again.

Maybe there was some supernatural force at work here? A demon or ghost who made it their mission to serve an incongruously good breakfast?

He shrugged and gathered up a plate with two bagels, some cream cheese, and lots of fruit to go with the two cups of coffee.

He got back to the room just in time to see Dean finish buttoning up his jeans.

Jared set the food down. "Breakfast."

Dean looked at the plate as if cantaloupe and strawberries violated the laws of nature. "God, you're worse than Sam." He grabbed up a cup of coffee and took a sip black, then poured some creamer in.

"What, because only women, hippies, and frou-frou California boys eat fruit for breakfast?"

Dean shrugged. "You said it, not me." He set the coffee down and began trying to undo his bandage where it fastened behind his back. "Let me just get this, and we'll go have a real breakfast."

"Cheetos?"

"Those are for the morning after an all-night drive, not a drunken escapade." He tugged on the bandage again, and it failed to come undone. "A little help?"

Jared walked over and peeled the bandage off. The cuts on Dean's stomach were healing over but still had vulnerable scabs. Dean didn't rebandage them, just pulled a t-shirt on. Then he gestured at Jared. "Let's see yours."

So Jared ended up having to take his shirt off to give Dean a view. Dean stepped behind him, declaring that the wounds looked fine. Jared felt a dull rush of pain on his back as Dean poked him.

"The thing give you bruises, too?"

"No, you did those."

"Oh, yeah, right." Dean's hand traced gently across Jared's upper back and down his right side, making Jared shiver. "Sorry." Jared shrugged as Dean's fingers dropped away from his skin. "I'll make it up to you by buying breakfast." Dean's voice was more teasing than apologetic.

"I did pay for dinner and drinks last night, after all." Jared laughed as he pulled his shirt back on, then smoothed down his hair.

Dean reached up and knocked Jared's hair askew again. "Hard-earned money, Jared, hard-earned money." He smirked while Jared frowned and brushed his hands over his head.

They ended up going back to the same place they'd been the night before. There was no sign of Linda the waitress, and the bar was closed. Only a handful of people were eating breakfast, or maybe brunch considering the time, mostly families with little kids.

Dean ordered eggs sunny side up with bacon and toast and Jared got a tall stack of blueberry pancakes. Their waitress this time was matronly, and Dean didn't flirt with her, just smiled sweetly and called her ma'am, like Jared did.

As soon as she trundled off, Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped under his chin. "Here's what I'm thinking. We haven't been able to find any good information here, so we should go back to a bigger city, like Des Moines, that might have more resources."

"But what if something here is what caused this? Could leaving break some sort of connection?"

"I don't know. We can always come back, though. I think it's time to do something I almost never do."

"What?"

"Call in the flakes."

Jared asked what that meant, but Dean didn't explain, just went back to drinking his coffee.

When their food came, Jared slathered his pancakes with butter and syrup. Dean was staring at him speculatively, but Jared didn't care. He was starving, and they looked so good. He took a huge bite.

They didn't taste right at all. That was awful. He grimaced.

Dean burst out laughing. "Dude, Sam hates blueberries."

Jared stared at him in shock, then spit the bite out into his napkin. "That is so wrong. He's one sick fuck."

"Totally. So, you going to eat those?"

Jared stared mournfully at his pancakes. "I don't think so." The thought of it made him shudder.

Dean reached out and grabbed the plate of pancakes, dragging it towards him. He shoveled one of his eggs onto it, then pushed his plate in front of Jared, shaking his head. "The things I do…" he muttered.

"I can order something else."

"Shut up and eat your eggs." Dean shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth and chewed determinedly.

So Jared obediently ate the eggs. They were good, made just the way he liked, and he still had some fruit waiting back at the motel.

After breakfast they returned to the motel to pack, then Dean hustled them onto the road, still not explaining to Jared what exactly they were doing. They were going back to Des Moines, but he didn't say why.

As Dean drove along, humming along to Metallica, Jared stared out the window at the flat scenery, thinking. He kept going over what he'd done so far, what could have caused the switch, the differences in these universes, even the nature of reality, until his head was spinning with frustration. He tried to think whether Dean had actually mentioned anything about the plot of any episode, and decided he hadn't really. So maybe the story was really different, even though the basics were the same.

But, even if Dean confirmed or denied everything that was supposed to have happened up until then, Jared's presence was still changing things. He just didn't know how or how much, and he didn't see how he could ever know that.

What was Sam's presence doing to his own world? Had Sam done anything weird or horrible, gotten Jared in trouble with Jensen or Sandy or his parents in some way, pissed off Kripke and gotten Jared fired, starved his dogs?

Not to mention the fact that, regardless of what Jared told Dean, Sam was learning all sorts of shit about his own future by being on set. He'd bring that knowledge back with him.

Unless he never came back.

It was an awful thought. Jared was enjoying hanging out with Dean, mostly, but he didn't want to stay here. He didn't want to be trapped in Sam's life, hunting monsters, hunted by The Demon. He didn't want to have only one person he could ever really explain it to, and have that person be unavailable to him in so many ways. And if Sam never came back, Dean would end up totally hating and resenting Jared for that.

He didn't want to contemplate, heaven forbid, ever trying to explain all this to John Winchester and dealing with his anger. Jared would never be able to stay quiet about the future in that case, not with John and Dean both pressing him.

No, Jared wanted to go back home and live his own life. It was a good life, and he liked it, and he'd worked hard to get it in the first place. He was determined to work hard to get it back.

The two of them remained lost in their own thoughts until they reached Des Moines. Dean drove around a little until he found an area of town with some alterna-boutiques, a thrift store, and a used record store. He parked behind the music store and hopped out of the car. "Let's go shopping."

"For CDs?"

"Nope. Further down the block."

Jared followed Dean down to a New Age store with books and herbs in the windows. The doorframe was draped in silver cloth edged with feathers and beads. The place was called, according to the sign, 'The Wandering Path.' Dean paused on the doorstep, then gritted his teeth and went inside. So that's what he'd meant by flakes.

The place smelled like sage and patchouli, and Jared had to rub his nose to hold in a sneeze. Dean headed to the back wall and scanned the books on the shelves. Some of them were antique, others new, but all looked handmade.

Dean pulled one down and started flicking through the pages. Jared didn't see any title on the cover of it, or on most of the other books on that shelf.

Just then, a plump middle-aged woman in an orange '70s dress bustled up to them. "Anything I can help you boys with?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you'd be so kind." Dean turned and flashed her a brilliant grin. "I'm Dean, and this is my brother Jared."

Jared glanced over at him, just in time to see Dean drop his gaze for a second after saying that. Dean's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and Jared's stomach fluttered along with them. When Dean looked back up at the woman his expression was so intense that Jared didn't even hear what he was saying. Instead, he just heard Jensen's voice in his head, whispering, "Dean doesn't do friends. He knows family and people to save and enemies, that's it." Jared tried to tell himself that it was just a cover story, and it was, but it was so much more than that, too.

"…about getting souls back into the right body? Not when someone's died, just if the soul's gone off to the wrong place, somehow," Dean was saying when Jared managed to tune back into him.

The woman nodded, then turned and perused the shelves for a moment. She pulled down a dusty old tome bound in cracked red leather, with no words or decorations on the outside. Dean took it and opened it to a random page, and Jared leaned in to see the yellowing, rough paper covered in scratchy handwriting, parts of the ink splotchy and faded. The woman looked Jared over searchingly, then nodded again. "Yes, that ought to do it for you." She reached up and patted Jared's cheek, standing on her toes. "Good luck, boys."

"Thank you," Dean replied.

Jared thought he might be blushing, because his face felt warm and tingly. Or maybe that was because of some psychic thing she did when she touched him.

She took the book back from Dean and walked them over to the cash register, where she rang it up and placed it in a plain paper bag. It was fifty dollars, and Jared really had no idea whether that was expensive or cheap. Dean nodded slow and serious at the number and paid in cash. The woman clucked her tongue at him when she touched it, and he grinned wryly.

"My name's Mizz Selene, and you boys remember to come back here and ask for me if you need any ingredients for that, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jared answered.

"We sure will," Dean added.

They left the store, and Dean led Jared to a little park nearby.

"How'd you know about that place?" Jared asked.

"I didn't, but I hoped. Wasn't expecting to find the right kind of thing first try. Let's make sure."

They sat down on a bench under a tree, and Dean opened up the book. Jared tried to read over his shoulder, but the handwriting was little and cramped, full of words he couldn't make out at all. He thought they might not even be English. After a few minutes he gave up and settled back with his eyes closed, letting Dean do the work. Dean mumbled sometimes as he read, and there were birds singing, and a warm breeze. It was actually really pleasant, and Jared zoned out a little.

Eventually he started paying more attention as Dean's mumbles coalesced into firmer sentences. "Oughta… Red candle, got that. Mint, chamomile, old bowl, yeah, crow's feather, rocks… Check. Looks like this one might work."

Jared pulled up, eyes snapping open. "Really? Lemme see." Dean handed him the book, pointing to the top of the page. If ever souls go awry and do travel from their homes, fastenings upon the body come loose... It went on like that for a bit, then started explaining a ritual, with pictures of the symbols to draw, lists of elements to bring in, and an incantation in Latin. "Okay."

"I looked through the whole book, and that's the one that best matches our situation. Most of the rest are more typical exorcisms and such, but this one's for homecomings, bringing people back where they belong."

"Sounds good." It actually sounded kinda dangerous, knowing how Dean might remember and use that sort of spell in the future if John died the same way, but Jared tried not to think about that, since there were no guarantees.

"Let's find a place, then."

Jared blinked. "Right now?" His voice didn't quite crack on the sentence.

"I meant a motel, you dork. This sort of thing always needs preparations." Dean punched Jared lightly on the arm. "Come on."

They drove around a little until they passed a grocery store. When they stopped to buy soda and sandwich fixings, Dean grabbed a couple boxes of mint and chamomile teas.

"Are those…" Jared twirled a hand at the tea. "She said to go back to her if we needed ingredients."

"It's good enough. You can always fudge this stuff. Besides, I don't want to go back to that freaking store. It was tacky."

"My God, and I'm putting my life in your hands."

Dean tossed the tea into the shopping cart and puffed out his chest. "Sure you are. I'm a highly trained professional."

Jared just shook his head and pushed the cart down the aisle.

They were cruising back to the highway, looking for a motel, when they neared a sign for a detour due to construction, and the glove compartment began beeping and whining.

"The hell?" Jared pulled back from it.

Dean waved a hand. "EMF meter. Get it out and check the readings."

Jared pulled out the rigged-up Walkman as Dean took the turn down a side street. The noise stopped. "Huh," Dean said.

He circled around a few blocks, and the EMF activity seemed to be centered right on the intersection that was under construction. Dean tapped the steering wheel as Jared read him numbers from the screen. They drove right past a little bed and breakfast, and Dean pulled into the parking lot with a screech.

"Okay. Looks like a job and a convenient base of operations."

"What about the spell?" Jared asked.

"We'll get to it, man, but I want to try and figure out what this thing here is, too." Dean looked over at Jared. "That okay?"

Jared nodded. "Yeah, sure." He definitely wanted to go home, but it didn't have to happen in the next few minutes. He'd still like time with Dean.

They walked into the living room of the B&amp;B together. There was a guy at a desk there, across from a chintzy couch. The wallpaper was striped, the walls were covered in paintings, and everything was busy and frilly.

The guy looked up as they approached the desk. "Can I help you?"

Dean grinned at him. "Yeah, we'd like a room for tonight."

"All we have available is one king."

"Sure. Okay." Dean didn't even blink. The guy looked from him over to Jared, and Jared raised an eyebrow blandly. The guy fumbled around for the credit card Dean handed him and swiped it through the register. As Dean bent to sign the receipt he casually asked, "So what's up with the construction out there?"

"Oh, the light's been broken for ages now. It changes randomly, caused a bunch of accidents. They tried to fix it earlier, and it still didn't work, so they're having another try."

"Hmm. That sounds annoying."

"Yeah." The guy handed over a key. "You're all set, Mr. Halford. Enjoy your stay."

"I'm sure we will." Dean slung an arm around Jared's waist. "C'mon, sugar, let's go unload the car." Jared walked out with his arm over Dean's shoulders.

When they got to the car, Dean let go of him to open the trunk.

"You are seriously evil," Jared laughed, shaking his head.

"Nah, just studly." Dean threw a duffel at Jared, who caught it across his chest with both arms. The next bag Dean tossed to him hit the first one and fell to the pavement.

Jared stooped to pick it up as well, hefting both of them. "I'd flip you off, but…"

"Shoulder straps, dude." Dean hauled another bag over his shoulder and slammed the trunk shut.

"You gave me the bags without straps."

Dean shrugged and flicked Jared the bird. "Well, fancy that."

"Seriously fucking evil." Jared shook his head again, following Dean into the building and up to their room.

They ate lunch, and Jared shook his head again over the tea bags Dean put away in a drawer. He was pretty sure the spell wouldn't work with these haphazard methods. Hopefully it would just do nothing and they could go get the right stuff and try again, but he was worried he might turn into a chicken or something. Really, if he were being practical, he ought to insist on taking more precautions, but he kept telling himself that he didn't really know what he was talking about, or how this worked, or what the rules were. Dean was a lot more experienced, and if he said it was alright, it could very well be alright. So Jared was going to trust him, and if Dean fucked up, well, Jared was going to see how much of an advantage Sam's height and longer reach gave him in a fight.

Dean settled down on the bed to re-read the book they'd bought and crosscheck portions of it with John's journal. Jared settled down in the armchair to, apparently, channel surf and fidget while Dean ignored him. When Jared found himself actually watching an episode of Full House, he finally turned the TV off and turned to Dean, who was calmly flicking pages and making notes on the pad of paper from the room's desk.

"Is there anything I can do that would be useful?" Jared asked, a little desperately.

Dean looked up. "Actually, yeah. You wanna run a load of laundry?"

Jared groaned. "Oh, God. Why did I ask?" They'd passed a laundry room in the hall on their way upstairs. "Okay, fine. Where are your dirty clothes?"

Dean pointed to his duffel. Jared looked over at it. Sam at least had his dirty clothes separated out in another bag, but… "Just wash whatever you think needs it," Dean said.

"Oh, no. I am not sorting through and smelling all your clothes. You can come along and toss them in the washer, I'll take it from there." At least it was something to do.

Once the washer was humming along Dean went back to the room and Jared sat there, flicking through some old magazines. He skimmed his way through a couple news weeklies and tabloids, looking for a mention of someone he really knew, not finding any. The boredom was starting to wear on him. What did Dean and Sam normally do all day?

While the dryer was spinning, Jared tried to do some stretches in the little room, fake push-ups against the edge of the washer, squats and lunges, whatever he could fit in. It was weird. Sam seemed to have a little more leg strength and a little less arm strength, and he could touch his toes better than Jared but not put his arms as far behind his back. Little differences that kept throwing Jared off as he twisted and pushed, but it felt good to be working out even a little after all that time sitting around.

Finally he flung the clean clothes back in the duffel, took them to the room, and dumped them out on the foot of the bed to fold. Dean was still ensconced at the head, laptop open and spell book beside him, glancing between them and jotting down more notes on the pad of paper. He seemed totally calm, not at all restless, utterly at ease with what he was doing. Jared felt like climbing the damn walls.

He folded a pair of Sam's jeans, then tossed a t-shirt over Dean's laptop. "Don't you ever get bored?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "What's your problem? I'm working."

"No, seriously. You don't have any games, any books, any friends… What in hell do you do?" Jared balled up another shirt convulsively, then dropped it back on the bad.

"Now that's a stupid question. What do you do all day?"

"I work. Like, fourteen, sixteen hours a day." Jared started pacing along the bed. "But at least I also have hobbies and a social life."

"No, see, I work. Saving people. What you do, walking around pretending stuff, that isn't the same."

"Oh, come off it. You watch movies, you listen to music. Hell, you watch Oprah and she's the richest woman in the country."

"Aren't those hobbies?" Dean was sitting up straighter, ignoring the papers spilling off his lap. "But you can't honestly say your, uh, job, is as important as mine."

Jared threw out his arms. "I'm not going to give you some impassioned defense of acting! I just wanted to point out that I've been taken away from everything I do, and you haven't really been compensating for that, with your boring-ass motel life."

Dean stood up, grimacing. "You're a pissy little bitch. You think I haven't lost anything? At least I didn't go, what, bugfuck insane like you predicted? And don't think I didn't catch the implications of that statement."

"Then why don't you just send me home already?" Jared didn't even know why he was yelling at Dean now, when earlier he had been wanting to stay longer. He just couldn't take the waiting.

"Why do you think?" Dean stared at him narrowly for a moment, and Jared stared back. Dean finally shook his head, turned, and stomped out of the room.

"I have no fucking clue!" Jared yelled as the door slammed shut. He angrily threw more clothes around the bed for a few minutes, sulking, then folded them up neatly. Eventually he tried reading the spell book again. It was a little easier going, and he puzzled through the instructions for their ritual. It didn't seem to specify anywhere what state the herbs had to be in, which was reassuring.

After a while Sam's phone rang, and Jared picked up the call from Dean.

"Hey," came Dean's voice immediately, "what do you want on your pizza?"

Jared scrunched up his face. "Lots of meat? Peppers, olives."

"Sounds good."

"Pretty much anything but pineapple, really."

Dean laughed. "Got it. No fruit."

"Tomatoes are fine." Jared smiled back, knowing Dean couldn't see it.

"Tomatoes don't count as a fruit."

"Whatever you say, Dean." Jared did laugh at him then.

"Exactly. See you in thirty." He hung up, and Jared put down the phone, still grinning.

When Dean rolled back in he had a large pizza and a couple more sodas. Jared went to open the box and stared at the pizza in surprise. "Broccoli?" The pizza had all the meat and peppers and olives Jared had asked for, and also broccoli.

"Trust me, you'll like it."

"Is this like the blueberries?"

"Yeah, Sam's a weirdo."

Dean settled back with a slice of pizza, chowing down. Jared took a bite, and yeah, it was better than he expected. He didn't normally like broccoli much, but this was really good.

After dinner Dean took a nap, saying they would go out and check the stoplight at 2 or 3 am when there shouldn't be anyone around.

Jared wasn't quite tired yet, and he felt odd about sleeping in the same bed as Dean, so he again sat in the armchair and futzed about with the TV, watching local basketball, HGTV, whatever, even, as it got later, infomercials, dozing off and on.

At about 2 am Dean got up and started packing a bag with a few guns, the journal, lighters, holy water, some other supplies. They got dressed in dark clothes and headed out. The stoplight was two blocks away, an easy walk down the dim and deserted streets to the intersection barricaded with construction signs and traffic cones, cherry picker sitting in the middle of it.

The stoplight was off, and no one was around. The night was quiet. The EMF meter didn't beep, not even the slightest whine.

"Okay, this was going like crazy earlier. What happened?" Dean looked more annoyed than confused.

"Maybe it only comes out when there're cars?" Jared suggested.

Dean waggled a finger at him speculatively. "Might be. You move these cones, I'll go get the Impala."

He left Jared there rolling his eyes and sighing, but Jared did clear out enough cones for Dean to sneak the car in, headlights off, inching along.

Once the Impala rolled through into the intersection the stoplight began to flicker between red and green, and the EMF meter went crazy again.

Jared looked around warily, but no one came out to investigate, and no ghosts or apparitional vehicles appeared to kill them. It was just the Impala, red and green flashes reflecting off her shiny black surface, sitting there alone. The driver's side window came down and Dean beckoned him over.

"Dad's journal has a ritual for removing curses from inanimate objects. Works for all the most common types, and it doesn't even require any herbs." He grinned.

"You think that's what this is?"

"It's a good place to start, unless you want to go do more research to get specifics."

"Let's give it a try, then."

At Dean's suggestion, Jared climbed in the cherry picker. He'd never driven one of these before, but he imagined he could figure it out. Luckily, the key was stored in the ignition, and it started easily, with a noise that made Jared grimace but didn't bring anyone to see what was going on. After a few tries with the various levers he could raise and lower the thing, and he got it into a position where he could bring the platform right up to the still-flickering lights. Dean got out the journal and some holy water and got on the platform, and Jared lifted him up. Dean sprinkled the water on the lights and said something in Latin, holding the pages up to the colorful glow to read them. When he was done, the lights continued flickering. Nothing seemed to change. Dean shrugged, and Jared lowered him down.

They got out and met in the center of the intersection. "Okay, maybe it's not cursed. Maybe it's something else," Dean said.

Jared turned up his hands. "How can we figure that out?"

"Think we can just burn it?"

"I know we burn stuff a lot, but I doubt that'll catch fire." Jared examined the sturdy metal structure of the stoplight. "Maybe we should try what other shows do and use electricity. It does have an energy signal, after all." He waved the EMF meter, which was still beeping away.

Dean's jaw worked thoughtfully. "That might clear it out, and if not, we'll do something else. But where would we get an electrical jolt?"

Jared jerked his thumb at the Impala. "You got jumper cables?"

Frowning, Dean shook his head. "Oh, no you don't."

"Oh, yeah I do. Even if it doesn't work on the lights, it won't hurt the car."

Eventually Dean acquiesced, though he still grumbled as they got out the jumper cables and hooked them to the Impala's battery. Jared hoisted Dean up in the cherry picker again so that he could fasten the other ends of the cables to the metal right by the lightbulbs. Once Dean was back down, he turned on the ignition of the Impala, the two of them standing on the side away from the stoplight, crouching down behind the open door of the car.

There was a surge of electricity and a shower of sparks as the lights blew out with explosive pops. Then everything was dark and still. The EMF meter in Jared's hands was silent. They waited a minute, but the intersection stayed calm, nothing more happening.

Jared glanced at Dean. "Reckon it worked?"

"Looks like. I'll keep an eye on reports from the area to be sure, but I guess that dissipated whatever it was."

Once they got back to the room they both crawled into the bed. Jared was wearing boxers and a t-shirt, but Dean had stripped to just his boxers.

Jared turned his light off, though Dean's was still on. Jared lay there awkwardly on the left side of the bed, scooted over as close to the edge as he could get, on his back, arms down at his sides, trying not to move around. Dean seemed to be doing the same, but Jared was studiously trying not to look at him.

Suddenly Dean sighed huffily. "Fine. Get over here."

"What?" Jared turned his head, staring into Dean's green eyes. Suddenly he was grabbed and yanked toward Dean as Dean slid over, and then his head was resting on Dean's chest, the brown nub of Dean's nipple directly in his eyesight. Dean's left arm came around the top of Jared's shoulder, and his right hand wrapped around Jared's bicep. Jared wasn't exactly sure what was happening, but he shifted his shoulders until he was comfortable, his right arm curled between and under them, his left resting across Dean's stomach, fingers by his side. He kept his hips pushed back and away, not touching Dean, just in case.

"Once, when I was about nine," Dean said quietly, "we went way down to the Florida Keys. I don't remember what Dad was hunting there, ghost pirates or something, but Sammy and I got to play on the beach all day. We got the most awful sunburns, but that night Sam crawled into my bed and curled up with me anyway, even though it hurt like hell to touch anything." His thumb rubbed slowly back and forth over Jared's arm.

That was a sweet story, but this situation was actually totally different. Jared could hear Jensen murmuring "bottomless pit of neediness," and he couldn't tell whether Dean knew what he was doing. "Dean, I…" He trailed off, though, words not coming to him. He could feel the muscles over Dean's ribs tight under his hands, and the scabs on his stomach.

"I know, Jared. It's okay. Even if it is just because I look like your boyfriend."

"It's not just that." Jared closed his eyes.

Dean let go of him for a moment, shifting, and the red tinge behind Jared's eyelids disappeared as the light switched off. Then his hand was back around Jared's arm, fingers tracing the bulge of his bicep. Dean turned his neck to the left, curving his chin over the top of Jared's head, resting it there. Jared breathed in the smell of Dean, sweat and cheap motel soap and the leather of jacket and car, with a hint of lingering incense and herbs, and gave up trying to figure it out. Dean's other arm came down to rest along Jared's back, clutching the folds of his shirt.

Dean was quiet then. Jared moved a little, shifting his legs so his feet and knees touched Dean's. He dug his nails into Dean's side for just a second, then relaxed.

They lay there together, not saying anything more, until they were asleep.


	4. Day Four

The next morning when Jared woke up he noticed they had separated in the night, moving back to their own sides of the bed. Dean had turned over onto his stomach, and Jared was sprawled out all over, only one hand resting on Dean's back. Dean shifted sleepily when Jared climbed out, but he stayed in the bed.

Eventually he got up, and they had breakfast in the B&amp;B's dining room, neither one talking about anything, sitting there awkwardly for a while after they were done eating until Dean gruffly suggested that they start setting up the spell.

Dean spread a tarp out over the floor of their room, and they sketched an elaborate circle on it in permanent marker, surrounded by the symbols from the book. Jared didn't recognize any of them, but Dean knew what some were. At the four points of the compass they laid out a crow's feather, a stone, a red candle, and a plastic cup of tap water from the bathroom to represent the four elements. A beat-up old metal bowl rested in the center of the space to hold the chamomile and mint. While Jared was pulling apart the teabags and pouring the herbs in the bowl, Dean took a lighter from his pocket and set it to the candle. When Jared looked back up a minute later he saw Dean sticking his finger in the pool of melted wax around the wick, pulling out a bit of it and peeling it off his skin to roll into a ball.

Jared glared. "Don't fuck it up. You're already playing fast and loose with this ritual as is."

"Dude, chill. Some details matter, some don't." Dean dropped the wax back into the candle's hollow and then blew out the flame. "You done with the tea?"

"Yeah."

"Then we're ready to roll."

This was the moment. Jared really wanted to go home, and he really hoped he didn't end up splattered all across two worlds by this, but despite not wanting to stay, he didn't want to leave, either. He was going to miss Dean. Jared stared at him, trying to fix the sight in his memory. Dean stared back.

Jared walked out across the line and pulled Dean into a hug for a moment. Dean's arms came up, and he hugged Jared back. "Bye, Dean."

"No need to get so worked up," Dean said, but he sounded a little choked himself. "You'll still see me all the time up on the TV screen."

"That's not the same."

"Yeah, could be more accurate, if you do remember to tell that Jensen of yours to work out more."

Jared laughed and slapped Dean's back as he stepped away. "I'll do that."

"Get in there, then."

Jared stepped into the circle as Dean picked up the spell book. Dean began to recite the incantation, his voice low and hypnotic as he chanted. Jared moved around at his cues, activating each element in turn, lighting the candle, blowing on the feather, stirring the water, tapping the rock on the floor. He felt a little silly doing these things and actually expecting it to work, and that contrasted with the solemn sound of Dean's voice to put him in an even more heightened state of tension.

As Dean closed his mouth on the last syllable of the recitation Jared plunged his hands into the bowl of herbs. There was a blinding flash of white light.

When it cleared, Jared was standing with a book in his hands, staring at Sam's body kneeling before him in the middle of a magic circle and looking at Jared with an expression of utter confusion.

"Dean?" Jared asked. That would be completely par for the course, for Dean's fucked up iteration of the spell to have just switched the two of them and made the whole situation even worse.

"…Aren't you Dean?" The other person raised an eyebrow as he replied.

"Sam?" That might be a step closer to right. Maybe.

"Um…"

Jared recognized that look of confusion now, the tone of that 'um.' It was someone who thought he shouldn't admit to not being Sam. "Jensen?"

"…Jared?!"

"Yeah. So if we're both here, that means Sam and Dean are…"

"In my apartment, I guess." Jensen looked down. "Is it safe to leave this circle?"

It was really odd for Jared to watch Sam's body from the outside, seeing it look so similar to his own, but with Jensen's grin on its lips. Jared glanced down at Dean's hands, then set the book on the table next to him.

"I think so. So you figured out about… all this?" He waved a hand ineffectively.

Jensen strode over to him. "You said you were going method, and then I thought you were trying to break it off with me, and then Sam finally fessed up. Aw, Dean really is shorter than Sam."

"It's good to see you, too, bitch. Well, sorta see you." Jared threw his arms around Jensen, and they squeezed each other tight. Then Jensen spun them around to both face the mirror over the dresser, his arm still around Jared.

"So that's what Sam meant," he said after a minute.

"Yeah." Jared leaned against Jensen's shoulder, so much higher up than it should be, watching Dean's head tilt toward Sam as he did so. "Wanna try Dean's punk-ass spell again and see if we can blow this pop stand?"

"I don't get to shoot or burn anything first?" Jensen tightened his grip on Jared's arm. "This'll be a pretty short trip."

"I just want to go home." Jared moved his hands over across Jensen's hip, his fingers slipping under the shirt, feeling the warm skin of Sam's side.

"Right. What do we do?"

Jared directed Jensen to read the phrases from the book, and Jared got to do the same actions he had done before with the elements, his heart pounding in his ears even louder than the last time, the two of them both standing in the center of the circle.

This time when the white flash cleared it was replaced by the familiar sight of Jensen's living room. It was dark outside, and the lights were on bright. Jared was sitting sideways and cross-legged on the sofa, hands outstretched in some wild gesticulation, looking up into his own face, his own hand resting on his new knee.

"Well, fuck." Jared saw his lips part in front of him, heard his own voice like a recording. He'd seen himself on film a billion times before, gotten used to the sight, to the variations of angles, lights, makeup, expression, other people's feelings there in his eyes. But watching himself do something he'd never actually done was odd, like a tape made when he was falling-down drunk resurfacing years later, but more so. More so than seeing Sam from the outside. His face continued talking. "This is Jensen. That still you, Jared?"

"Yup." Jared could hear Jensen's voice as he spoke, lowered and reverberating in his ears and throat.

"What now?" Jensen asked.

Jared shook his head. "No spell book here. I guess we just hope they're still mixed up and wait for them to try again, and pray that fixes it all."

"Just great."

Jared tried not to think about what would happen if that didn't work. Maybe Sam and Dean were fine and wouldn't know Jared and Jensen were mixed up, maybe their spells wouldn't affect this world now that the two weren't crossed anymore, maybe he'd have to pretend to be Jensen forever. Or maybe they'd just keep switching around over and over, never getting it right.

Yeah, not thinking about that.

He swung himself onto Jensen's lap, kneeling over his thighs. This was kinky, and he probably shouldn't be interested, but what the hell. He wanted to say hi to Jensen properly now that he didn't have to worry about doing anything to Sam and Dean. And if he learned what it was like to kiss himself, that was alright with him. It'd be interesting.

"Hey, there," he whispered.

"You're whacked," Jensen said, but he stretched up to meet him.

Jared buried his hands in his own hair, pulling Jensen closer, licking across his lips. Jensen's hands settled at his waist, his mouth opening. Fingers and tongue all felt bigger from this side.

Jared closed his eyes, kissing deeply, and the darkness turned into brightness, a flash, then darkness again, and Jared kept kissing through it.

He was pressed back into the sofa, someone's weight on his lap, hands in his hair, hips under his hands. Jared started to pull away, uncertain who it was, but the hands clutched at him, and that was definitely Jensen he was kissing, lips moving familiarly on his, teeth nipping at him.

They kissed for a moment and then broke off, leaning their foreheads together.

"I never got to talk to Sam," Jared whispered.

"We got cut off in the middle of a conversation. And I never got to talk to Dean."

Jared laughed, pushing away to smile suggestively at Jensen. "He says you need to work out more."

"Oh, does he, now." Jensen grinned.

Sliding his hands up Jensen's back, Jared nodded solemnly. "And I have some great ideas for your first set of reps."

Jensen leaned into him, eyes gleaming. "What could they possibly be?"

Even though Jared loved Jensen, as he swung him over onto the couch cushions he knew deep in his heart that he was dedicating this time around to Dean Winchester.

 

The end.


End file.
